The dog went in for a haircut this weekend and had to be shaved down to the quick because (ahem) apparently his owners don't do a very good job brushing him.
Now normally Fritz and Preschooler D spend the day driving me crazy wrestling with each other and then getting mad at each other and then making up and then starting all over again wrestling. Not so much since the shaving. The past two days you can find the dog here:
Yes, under the comforter in my bed. He usually favors Colin's bed, but for some reason my bed is the winner right now. I have a heavier comforter. Maybe it feels better. Maybe he thinks no one will think to look for him there. I know that's what I think when I take to my bed to hide from the world.
All I know is he didn't even come down for popcorn yesterday afternoon. That is one depressed dog. I feel bad for him.
. . . if only it weren't so gosh darn funny.
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